


for me, there's you

by kagako



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagako/pseuds/kagako
Summary: Killua doesn’t remember when it began or how it happened—one day, it was just there; like how the sun is in the sky and how laundry sways in the wind—how you put paint to canvas and how you sing song into the air.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this one is for nina, who passed a Hard Test and also wrote a whole thread of a killugon idea, so 1+1 I just kind of wrote it for nina. Congratulations!! I hope you enjoy it!!

Killua doesn’t remember when it began or how it happened—one day, it was just _there;_ like how the sun is in the sky and how laundry sways in the wind—how you put paint to canvas and how you sing song into the air.

He remembers first meeting him, the scabby knees Gon had and the oversized green shirt he wore. He remembers bits and pieces, here and there throughout their childhood, but one memory in particular stands out.

_They were about six, then, playing in the dirt of Gon’s backyard and chasing each other with sticks. Aunt Mito watched them fondly, sipping lemon tea as she flipped through a book. Killua wasn’t sure what caused him to look up and across the street beyond the chain link fence, but as he saw a couple walk by, their hands linked, all cheery voices and shy laughter, Killua thought that he wouldn’t mind that being him and Gon one day._

_So he marched his way up to Mito, sword-stick abandoned and playfulness stored away until twenty minutes into the future. When Mito looked down at him questioningly, he pointed toward the happy couple and told her, “I’m going to marry Gon one day.”_

_She had looked at him in surprise, and then a bit of laughter filtered through her lips. He watched as she shut her book, as she extended a hand only to ruffle his hair. “You really love Gon, don’t you?”_

_And Killua thought_ , yeah, as much as the chocolate Aunt Mito makes and as much as the lightening in the sky during storms, as much as my favorite meal and even more than anyone else.

_Instead, he nodded and simply said, “Yes.”_

_They were a child’s thoughts, but no less true._

_Mito nodded as she hummed. “Good luck, Killua.”_

However, long gone are scabby knees and neon band-aids. Sticks that were once akin to legendary swords lay untouched in their backyards as they grew older and older. Soon, they find themselves in high school, and then time seems to morph into seasons and blurred surroundings, and finally: college.

Innocence turned to something more complex.

What hasn’t changed is that, no matter how much older or taller Killua grew, he found himself completely and miserably infatuated: at the age of eight, and then thirteen, still into seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, and now: twenty.

As if to taunt him, his mind replays the memory: _I’m going to marry Gon one day._

Soon, his hands itched to touch his best friend; and Killua was scared for a month straight, terrified of the feelings nestled in the pit of his heart. However, Gon was the sun and the gentle breeze: there was no way Killua could deny such a thing. So he buried his feelings, the mask he hardened throughout the years cracked here and there, but still sturdy nonetheless.

The feelings lingered: to touch, to kiss, to want; it was a maddening sensation that drove Killua over the edge—with his own hand or another’s touch, he didn’t care, but he always felt terrible afterwards.

_(“Wanna do it again next week?” his first hook-up asked._

_Killua hesitated, thought of the movie he and Gon planned to see._

_“No.”_

_She pouted, her breasts swaying as she crawled toward him. When she reached toward him, he knocked her hand away, and even though he felt terrible about it, he didn’t stop her as she quickly dressed and left the hotel room.)_

_(The second girl he hooked up with wasn’t that bad. She was pretty, her hair short and black and her eyes wide and brown._

_He hated himself for the resemblance—but he didn’t stop her from tugging his hand, from reassuring him that her parents weren’t home. He didn’t stop her as she undressed and urged him to do the same._

_She was soft, but not as soft as the palms of Gon’s hands._

_She was warm, but not as warm as Gon’s smile._

_When he came, he groaned Gon’s name and not her’s._

_Killua didn’t stop her from throwing him out.)_

It was hard, to say the least.

Especially now, in the peak of summer with the term just beginning; now, sitting across from Gon at the café on campus; now, with the suffocating heat and the sweat Killua sees trickle down Gon’s neck. Gon was always lean and strong, his arms supple and shown bare thanks to his choice of wardrobe and the heat, and he tanned easily. The bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders were currently scattered with freckles thanks to the suns seemingly nonstop existence—and there it was again, the feeling in the pit of Killua’s stomach.

Killua clears his throat, says, “So you got that date tonight, Gon?” and it really isn’t something he wants to talk about, but at least he won’t get hard in broad daylight if _this_ is what they were talking about.

Gon sighs, shakes his head. His brows furrow as his eyes take in numbers and calculations; all too soon, he gives up. Killua would scold him if not for the way Gon rests his chin on the heel of his palm and says, all pouty, “Nah. She broke up with me.”

“Huh?” Killua hums. There’s a hopefulness in his stomach and it makes him want to vomit. “How come?”

“She said,” Gon starts, and as his next words filter through, his voice is a bit more high pitch: “ _’Gon, honey, you don’t seem to take us very seriously,’”_ he recites. “That’s what she said.”

“I see.”

“That’s what they all say, really. Dunno why. Say, wanna help me with this problem?”

Killua hums. “Sure.”

While he helps Gon with his study sheet, Killua wonders, _why don’t I just tell him?_

***

Later, in the privacy of his dorm, Killua connects his forehead to the wall; and maybe he does it too hard, but the absurdity of some of his thoughts amazes him.

_Why don’t I just tell him?_

He knew it wasn’t as simple as that—he has been by Gon’s side through it all; they’ve known each other since children, been there for each other’s firsts. Killua couldn’t—after all, he mused, that was why he built that ‘mask’ in the first place.

Killua is a weak man, and his mind can’t help but wander.

_Gon wouldn’t be fazed,_ his mind says.

_Want,_ his body says.

_Love him,_ says his heart. _Since the beginning._

“No,” rolls off Killua’s tongue.

***

Two weeks later, Gon asks out the girl in his math class that always helps him with difficult problems.

_(“As a thank you?” she asked, an eyebrow raised._

_“Well, this one, yeah!” he exclaimed. His smile grew boyish and giddy as he continued, “But if you end up liking it, we could always go for another one!”_

_She laughed. “I’ll think about it on our date.”)_

When he tells Killua this, he swears up and down that there’s _something_ in his expression, but it’s there and gone before Gon can put a name to it.

“She’s real nice,” Gon continues instead. “You know her, right? She has real light hair…and uh, big blue eyes…she’s—“ he stops there, realizes he’s also describing Killua. Heat prickles up his neck and he isn’t even sure why; instead, he clears his throat and gives a smile. “Anyways, it’s this weekend. Wish me luck?”

Killua nods, his eyes directed toward the book in his hands. He doesn’t look up nor does he smile as he says, “Good luck, Gon.”

***

The weekend comes in a hurry.

They meet at the entrance of the college, smiles plastered on their faces and embarrassment in their limbs as they are unsure whether or not to walk too close to each other or not. Gon laughs, and so does she, and perhaps it’s a bit too _playful,_ the way Gon bumps his shoulder to hers, but she says nothing.

He takes her to a small restaurant outside of campus, nothing too special or grand. He assures her to order whatever she wants, and her cheeks flush high and bright—it’s endearing, but something about it doesn’t make his heart race like the time he walked in on Killua n—

Gon clears his throat, sips his lemon tea as if it will grant him the concept of conversation. “Do you know Killua?” he asks, and something in the back of his mind says that that’s really not what he should be talking about right now, but he does anyway.

She hums, turns her head this way and that as if in thought. She chews her food before saying, “That guy you’re always with?”

“Yeah!” Gon says, nodding enthusiastically.

“Not personally, no. Seen him here and there, though. I think we might have had a class together last year.”

Gon laughs, and tells her, “Yeah. He doesn’t really try to make friends all that often.”

She hums.

“But he’s really nice, though! He might look like a delinquent, but I promise he’s not!”

Once more, she hums.

“Once, when we were kids, he cried and cried to Aunt Mito about taking in this abandoned puppy he found, because his folks wouldn’t allow animals. It was cute! In the end, we took in the dog and named him Zeus.”

“How nice.”

“He broke his arm once, trying to get a cat out of a tree. We called the fire department, but he just wouldn’t wait. This was when we were in high school,” Gon leans in and whispers that last bit as if it were a secret. He throws his head back and laughs at the memory it evokes.

She laughs, too, just a little. Gon doesn’t notice that her plate is empty and her glass had been refilled by a waiter.

“Killua is really nice. He’s always there for me, you know?” Gon says fondly, a small smile curving his lips. “Ah, but—he would just deny it and say it’s the other way around, that I’m the one always there for him, which really isn’t all that true, because well, you know. Life.”

“Life,” she repeats.

Gon nods, and laughs.

“You really love him, don’t you?” she asks him—and it causes him to stop short, to blink and force a breath from his lungs that had stopped mid-way, in the suddenness of her question.

He thinks, _yeah, I love him,_ and repeats aloud, “Yeah. I love him.” He watches as she gathers her purse and her coat—confusion laces his expression, he’s sure, because her smile is apologetic and a bit sympathetic.

“You’ve been talking about him our entire date,” she says. She has her coat on and her bag in hand, but she doesn’t get up to leave. “Maybe you should consider dating him instead? Taking him out to dinner, like this, instead?”

It hits him, then: that he loves his best friend, and probably always has. It was always there—like how the moon hung in the sky and how lightening cracks in summer storms—how you can’t help but jump a bit at loud thunder and how after the storm, you play in the puddles.

Gon looks at her, wide eyed with flushed cheeks. He murmurs, “I love my best friend…” as if to test how the statement rolls off his tongue, and then, in a shout that he should have controlled, “I love my best friend!?”

She flinches at the sudden volume, throwing an apologetic smile at the other patrons that are now glaring at them and muttering under their breaths.

“Come on, Gon,” she ushers, “Let’s get back to the dorms.”

He scrambles to throw the money on the table, and a little extra tip for causing a scene although his wallet couldn’t really afford it.

The walk to the dorms is quiet, and thoughtful.

***

It’s been a week since Gon’s looked Killua in the eye. They still walk to class together, still eat together, still hang out on the days their classes end early—everything is normal, besides for Gon.

Mentally, Killua checks his calendar: a week ago, Gon went on his date, and he remembers being jealous and too upset for his age, and he wonders if his standoffishness hurt Gon.

Killua clears his throat, says, “How did that date go?”

Gon jumps and shrieks as if electrocuted. “Fine! It was fine!” his voice is too high pitched and they both know it.

Killua nods slowly, murmurs an _uh-huh…_ before asking, “Are you feeling alright, Gon?”

“Huh?! Fine! Whatever made you think I wasn’t Killua?!” Purposefully, Gon avoids Killua’s eyes. He ducks his head, seemingly invested in the textbook that cost an arm and a leg.

He’d be testing waters—he knew that; but Killua couldn’t help but… _want_ to.

_It’s the same,_ his mind reassures.

_Touch him,_ his body urges.

_Lovehimlovehimlovehim,_ his heart sings.

“Don’t be stupid, Gon,” Killua says. He leans over, stretching an arm across the space beneath them which is occupied by empty water bottles and half-eaten sandwiches, by textbooks and notebooks with doodles of indescribable things in the margins. “If you’re sick, you have to be taken care of.”

Gon doesn’t squirm away from the touch of Killua’s palm against his forehead, but he wants to. It’s torture, for Gon, especially when Killua hums and feels for heat on Gon’s ears. “S-Stop—“

“Ah,” Killua hums, and thinks, _it can’t be_. “Sorry. You’ve always been ticklish around the ears. I forgot.”

At his remark, Gon flushes—and it only leaves Killua all the more dumbfounded, his brain sounding off sirens and commands of, _stay calm, stay alert, keep going—!_

“Yeah,” is all Gon says before going back to his work.

_It can’t be._

***

They sleep in different dorm rooms and yet neither can sleep.

Gon stays up, struggles to sleep with thoughts of: _I love him, I love him—well, how couldn’t I, when he’s so handsome? His hands are soft and strong, he’s funny and always has this cat-like smile on his face like he knows about a joke no one else is in on, and—_

Sometimes, his thoughts wander so far, he has to relief himself; burying his face in his pillow and bunching up the blankets around his hips so his actions are not so obvious, if his roommates woke up.

Killua has always been a night owl, but recently it’s been far, far worse now that his mind is rejoicing. _It’s the same—he feels the same? Surely, some deity isn’t fucking with me, right—_

The next day, when they meet outside the dorms, Gon bids a good morning and only looks at Killua’s forehead before looking away; and Killua hums, says a good morning too, and slings an arm around Gon’s shoulders as they walk to class.

The flush it earns Killua is enough to get him through the day.

***

In the span of a month, Killua teases Gon endlessly. He walks a bit too close, settling his chin on Gon’s shoulder when he’s sitting down and Killua is standing—when Gon is playing a game, when he’s reading for class or when he’s struggling with a problem and asking for help. He lays his head in Gon’s lap, feigns sleep and enjoys the way Gon tenses and fidgets—and once he hears Gon mutter, _how does someone sleep with so much movement beneath them?_ but he controls his expression and keeps the laugh behind his teeth.

He says things like, _you look good today, Gon,_ or _your freckles are fading—why don’t you go shirtless?_ and they’re embarrassing things to say, but each one earns him a flush of Gon’s cheeks and a bitten-back smile, and sometimes even a yelp of surprise if Killua sneaks up on him.

Killua wonders if this will end well for him.

One day, when Gon asks, “Killua…do you like guys?” he revisits the thought.

“Yeah, I mean—for me, I guess, it doesn’t matter much.” _I prefer you._

“Oh. I see,” Gon says, and it doesn’t seem like he’s bothered. “What about—?”

A pause.

“Gon?”

“Nothing.”

“I like you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Gon flushes, chokes on his own spit. “Stop joking around, Killua.”

_I’m not._ Killua laughs, a small _ha-ha._ “Yeah, okay.”

***

It’s the weekend after a huge test when Gon brings it up again.

“Did you… mean it?” he asks.

Killua looks down at him, ignoring the sweat prickling on the back of his neck. He’s glad Gon has begun looking him in the eye again—for a while, it was worrying, but now it just makes him feel self conscious. Like a prayer, he thinks, _please look away please look away—_

“Mean what?” Killua asks, wonders if he’s being too much of a dick about it, but all in all he can’t help but want to watch Gon squirm, even as he has a breakdown in his mind.

“You… you know,” Gon insists. He abandons the comic in his hands in favor of climbing onto Killua’s bed, next to him—but maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea. His senses are hyperaware, his head foggy with his best friend’s scent and all he really wants to do is lean over and see what Killua tastes like.

“I know,” Killua says, and Gon must think he’s teasing, that he’s asking a question, because Gon opens his mouth to retort, his brows furrowed and angry—but Killua laughs, then, and waves his hands as if to dispel Gon’s expression. “No, I mean—I know. I know what you’re talking about.”

“Y—You… do?”

“Yeah. And I do.”

“Wait, we’re talking about the same thing, right?”

“Huh? What do you mean—?”

“S-Say it clearly! Idiot!” Gon half-yells.

Instead of the retorts on his tongue, Killua rolls his eyes. He leans over, onto uncommon ground, his hand settled on Gon’s shoulder and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly nervous. Gon seems like he wants to speak, or _whatever,_ Killua doesn’t know, nor does he give him the chance.

Their lips fit together perfectly. It’s awkward and clumsy, foreign and dry, but nonetheless enjoyable. Gon is warm against him, his lips chapped instead of soft, but Killua doesn’t mind because this is _Gon._ His shoulders tremble with the intensity of it, his breathing stutters through his nose and when he opens his mouth the tiniest bit, Gon hums in the back of his throat, shifts onto his knees to get closer—and Killua tilts his head up, chasing Gon’s lips as he spreads his legs to make room for Gon.

The feel of Gon’s fingers in his hair is different, from before—intimate, loving. He feels loved in this moment, his chest almost crushed with it; in the way Gon touches him, in the way Gon feels against him and hums in approval, the way he sighs into the kiss and backs away for air only to slot their lips together once more, hurriedly, as if it could never be enough.

Killua raises his hands, slips them beneath the hem of Gon’s tanktop. Gon is warm beneath his touch, always is—Killua trails his hands upward, and he can feel his fingers waver against Gon’s hips and past his waist, but the thought and nervousness is gone once his fingers slide against Gon’s ribs, and he begins to laugh into the kiss.

Gon breaks the kiss only to throw his head back and laugh louder. He squirms against Killua, seemingly weightless in the way he falls back from his knees to get away. The position is awkward and the way Gon’s knees dig into his stomach is painful, but Killua can ignore it. “N—Not now, Killua,” Gon pleads, and so Killua stops, his smile cat-like and mischievous as he maneuvers Gon’s legs, one on each side of Killua’s hips.

Once Gon sits up, his laugh is sheepish and his smile even moreso. He scoots closer and ignores the tent in his pants in favoring of settling his hands on Killua’s forearms, inclining his head so their foreheads touch. It should be embarrassing, getting hard so easily like that—but with Killua, it felt right.

Killua must sense this, somehow. He’s always been good at reading Gon like an open book, which admittedly had always made Gon a bit angry, but he was thankful. Gon hums in question upon the feel of Killua’s hand on his own, and he barely has time to process anything before Killua’s placing Gon’s hand against his groin, saying, “Me too.”

It only elicits more laughter.

“You, too.”

Killua laughs, rubs their foreheads together. “Yeah. How couldn’t I—uh, be like this.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Gon asks, taunting.

Killua huffs in return, but says nothing—so instead, Gon tells him, “I’m not, because it’s you,” and as if to emphasis this, he slides the heel of his palm against Killua’s erection. The response is cute, Gon thinks, but he would never admit it aloud; Killua’s hips jerk and he gasps in surprise, a flush pinkening his usually pale skin up to the tips of his ears—and Gon laughs, fondly, leaning forward to kiss Killua again.

The silence is comfortable as they set their own rhythm. Killua’s got questions in his eyes as he looks at Gon, and Gon answers him by shyly rubbing his nose and nodding. It shouldn’t be anywhere near humorous, but the two can’t help but laugh—almost as if it were a dream. Killua tugs Gon closer, a fire in his chest as his (shaky) hands undo the button of Gon’s pants; and Gon follows his lead, his mind filled with clouds as the zipper goes downward.

Killua buries his face in the crook of Gon’s neck—to hide his face or get a closer look, he isn’t sure; but as he slips his hand beneath the waistband of Gon’s boxers and wraps his fingers around Gon’s dick, he almost doesn’t notice Gon doing the same, he’s so focused. The cool air against his own dick surprises him, and Killua exhales sharply, a growl in the back of his throat as he waits for no apology and instead takes revenge: he takes Gon’s dick from the confinements, swipes his thumb against the head.

 He doesn’t expect it to backfire, no, so the shiver that runs through him at the moan Gon let out, and the way Gon’s hips jerked upward, surprised him.

“That— _again_ , Killua—“

He repeats the movement, twisting his wrist upward, and is rewarded with the same reaction. A weak laugh leaves his lips as he works his hand on Gon’s dick like he does his own; Killua huffs against Gon’s neck, says, “don’t leave me hanging, Gon,” into his ear.

Gon jumps a bit, his own breath shaky as he matches Killua’s speed. He mimics him now and then, twisting his wrist on the upward slide, thumbing against the underside of the head because he likes the way Killua’s hips jerk and the way his breath stutters.

Killua has a fleeting thought of, _is this how he does it?_ and it almost sends him over the edge.

_“Gon—“_

A gasp leaves Gon’s lips as he comes, and in the mist of their adrenaline, Killua wants to say he heard his name, wants to push him down and make him come again and again if it means that’s what he’ll hear everytime—but he doesn’t. Instead, he works around Gon’s dick and watches as he rides out the last bit of his orgasm; and Killua doesn’t even mind that Gon’s hand stopped moving, doesn’t mind that there’s a pulsing in his abdomen and a burning in his throat, but as Gon twitches and squirms away with a murmur of Killua’s name, as his thumb circles around the head of Killua’s dick—he comes undone.

***

Later, there’s an itch in Killua’s mind.

“Gon… what happened on your last date?”

At the question, Gon laughs, and it has this embarrassing ring to it that Killua finds extremely endearing. “I—uh, talked about you the whole time so she told me, she said, _‘why don’t you just date him instead?’_ ”

“W—Really?” Killua laughs, can’t help it. “How could you talk about me the entire time? How embarrassing, Gon.”

Gon shrugs, defenseless. “Well, I mean…” he starts weakly, only to shrug again.

Killua snorts, and tells him, “It can’t be as embarrassing as the time I told Aunt Mito I was going to marry you.”

“Huh? I already knew that.”

If possible, Killua becomes paler. “Y—What, wait, _how?_ ”

“Killua,” Gon begins, in a way one would scold a child, “you can’t really expect Aunt Mito to keep a secret, can you?” Then, Gon hums and tells him, “Then again, I guess she never told you I’d accept , huh,” and then he laughs.

“Y-You’re—joking, r—“

“I am,” Gon confirms, but then the playfulness disappears before Killua could get too angry. “I guess now, I can be honest about it, right? Because for me, there was always you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
